Read Online Reckless Eyeballing by Ishmael Reed - Free Book Online Page B

bag. A sketch of the Flower Phantom appeared in all of the newspapers. Panels of experts discussed him on television. Some black men began to appear in public wearing a chrysanthemum pinned to their clothes. Ian’s head told him that this man was a lunatic who should be put away for a long time, but his gut was cheering the man on. His head was Dr. Jekyll, but his gut was Mr. Hyde.
    The place was full of commuters who were gulping down oysters and crackers. Finally somebody said, “Mr. Ball.” He looked up. She was standing there. Her skin was smooth and had a tapioca color. She wore a white turbanlike headpiece, earrings that dangled, bright red paint on her lips, which seemed in a puckered state. She wore black beads around her neck and the kind of skirt women wear in the Caribbean marketplace. She dressed like Carmen Miranda and had Carmen Miranda’s sexy eyes.
    â€œWhen they find that nigger I hope they put him under the jail.” She sat down. “He walked about the room calling me a collaborator before he did it. Said that the French knew how to punish traitors.”
    â€œBrashford said that throughout history when the brothers feel that they’re being pushed against the wall, they strike back and when they do strike back it’s like a tornado, uprooting, flinging about, and dashing to pieces everything in its path. A tornado has no conscience. He says the fellas feel that they are catching it from all sides.”
    â€œWhat else would a senior male chauvinist like Brashford say? He’s just a fifth-rate O’Neill anyway, and his opinions about women are just like O’Neill’s. We’re all whores to them. I’m really surprised that you seem to be agreeing with him.” She went into her bag and removed a small gun. “I was always a pacifist, always sympathizing with these guys, but if one of them tries that again, I’m going to blow him away.” Sympathize, Ball thought. By the end of Wrong-Headed Man , the lead villain has screwed his children, sodomized his missionary wife, put his mother-in-law in bondage, performed bestial acts with pets, and when the police break down the door he’s emptied the fish bowl and is going after the fish.
    â€œGet me a bowl of oyster stew and some crackers, and I think I’d like a bottle of Löwenbräu Light.” She threw a hundred-dollar bill at him. As he rose to comply with her wish, a white man who could have been created by Sloan Wilson approached the table. He wore a blue three-piece suit without a trace of lint, black cordovan shoes, manicured nails. He was clean-shaven. As Ball started toward the order counter, he heard the man ask was she Tremonisha Smarts. He turned and she was signing the man’s autograph and grinning. A European-American man came and took his order. He brought it back. “Isn’t that Tremonisha Smarts sitting over there?” He told the man that it was, the man made a smart aleck grin like James Dean’s, looked him up and down and said, no charge. “I loved that play,” he said. He came back and set down the tray bearing Tre’s requests and his shrimp cocktail.
    She threw the script onto the table.
    â€œI brought this script to you. I’ve red-penciled all of my suggestions; of course you’ll have the final say so of what goes, and what’s to be added. I think that the characters need more definition.” She paused and stared into his eyes after that sentence. He looked away. “We’re going to have to cut down on some of the props and costumes. Becky said they’re reducing the original budget for the play.”
    â€œBut Jim said that the budget was already skin and bones.”
    â€œLook, I just work here.” You can say that again, Ball thought.
    â€œBecky wants to put all of her money into Eva Braun’s play. You ready for that? Now, I want you to take the script home and go over my corrections, I mean, my